The Weight of the Wait
by i-prefer-the-term-antihero
Summary: Eugene has proposed a few times now, and he will surely propose again before this show is done. For now he carries the ring in his pocket, waiting for the right time…what does that feel like? Written for Inktober2019 Prompt 1: Ring


There's a story in another world about a ring, a ring that holds within its curls the embodiment of sin and all its consequences. A ring that gets heavier the more you hold it. The more it's around your neck, the more it digs in, draining your soul until it is the only precious thing left.

This, is not that ring. This is actually a very nice ring. It's a fine gold, with—maybe not Elvish—but curlicues around the edges. He couldn't afford the biggest diamond, but he made sure the diamond was the sparkliest of the bunch for his ray of sunshine.

Flynn Rider was once a thief. Once all the shiny things he owned were some borrowed relic of another man…not necessarily a better man–let's not go into semantics here–just another man or woman…or assorted monsters.

He even stole from the king once. A crown. Right in front of their hayfever-stricken noses too. It was pretty sweet.

Did he regret stealing from the most powerful man in his known world?

No. No he most certainly was not.

Because in some wacky turn of events—which some, shall-we-say, 'less practical' people might call 'destiny'—it led him to the person who was actually supposed to wear it.

And, well, when you find the most valuable thing in the world, there's no reason to keep on stealing a bunch of worthless crap, am I right?

Flynn Rider was once a thief, but Eugene Fitzherbert is an honest man.

Eugene's done with that life. Caput. Finito. He bought this ring with his good earned cash—well maybe not good earned, but cold, hard earned at least. And it wasn't easy to part with so much of it, let me tell ya.

And sure, her father—you know, the guy he once stole that crown from that one time—probably has a trove full of rings with much bigger diamonds, and much shimmery-er gold, with more carats—(tell me again why we're measuring gems in carrots?)—he would love to offer for this purpose, but no, no, no. This was going to be Eugene's ring. For Eugene's future wife. And he came from outside the castle, so it's gotta come from outside the castle too. It's gotta come from _him_. Truly. He's an honest man now, so he can't start that honest life with something borrowed.

And with this ring he will ask the king if he might steal only one last thing: his daughter's heart.

Er, sorry about the rhyme. And yes, yes, it sounds very cheesy. But…maybe he's made of cheese now because it sounds quite nice to him.

This ring is not dark, it does not hold sin and death, and an Elvish poem in its doom-encrusted circles…but he did notice that the longer it sat in his pocket, the heavier it got.

And again, not in some magic kinda way. It was just…the question he would ask, the future life he would share with her, the past—when none of this could have ever happened–how much love he has for this girl…when put into a physical object…they're more than a little heavy.

It made him sweat more often than usual, like he was carrying a ten-ton weight. It made it hard to speak, to walk in a straight line, at times.

But he could handle it; he knew that when she accepted all that weight would be more than lifted.

But she…_refused_.

Well, not refused, exactly…just, postponed the answer. No, not the answer…the question.

He knew it wasn't because she didn't love him, or didn't want to marry him, and he could understand her reasons, still…time seemed such a minor-league reason to refuse the person you both knowyou will spend the rest of it with.

She didn't give him reason to get rid of the ring, just…froze it in his pocket, telling him to take it out at the right time.

And when was the right time, exactly? I mean, what the hell does that really mean, 'right time'? Aren't people always saying 'there's no time like the present'? And '_now_'s the right time?' It's like he's gambling, putting his chips on 36 red to see if by some miracle that's where the ball landed…not that he's ever done that. And he does want to get it right, because it'll be romantic as heck when he does.

But it was almost because it wasn't a true no, it was a _not now_, that made this harder. Because it meant the ring would continue to sit in his pocket.

And, yeah, sure, maybe he could have set it down. But that would feel too much like setting down the question entirely, setting down the possibility of that ring going on her finger, and he couldn't do that. If the time was not now…that didn't mean it had to be too much later…did it? The time could still be soon…right? As long as they stayed together, and she was still made of sunlight and he…well, he didn't quite know what he was made of, what she saw in him, (and that was kinda why it'd be nice to know she wasn't going to leave him)—as long as he asked again, when the time was right, planned his moment…

So now he was Frodo, on his way to mount Doom, with a ring whispering in his head, digging into his chest with the sheer amount of its weight. So sometimes he just had to take it out, to look at it, admire it, tell it how precious it was to him. To ask her again—just had to ask once more—if only to relieve some of the building pressure, like he's got a pressure-cooker in his pocket.

Still no. Still not _now_.

But he carried it all the same. Because he knew one day would be the right day, the right time, and the answer would be now. He knew one day that weight would fling him into the sky, and he'd be lighter than ever.

So he'll wait. He'll carry that weight. It just reminds him that one day he'll carry her in his arms across the threshold of their new life. It just reminds him one day he'll carry their children on his shoulders.

So yeah, okay, he can wait a little bit longer. He doesn't need Lance to carry him up the mountain yet.

…Are we there yet?


End file.
